Michael S. Atkinson's Blog, page 2

The Angel and the Apocalypse

Some years ago, specifically in September 2013, I wrote a short story for the Trifecta writing challenge involving a treasure-hunting angel. This kicked off a story arc that ended in Lover’s Quarrel, a story written for Trifecta’s successor Yeah Write. One thing led to another, and that led to NaNoWriMo 2019, and that led to a year’s worth of rewriting and the invaluable editing and cover art skills of my wife Nicole, and that, after toil and tribulation, led to The Angel and the Apocalypse: available now on Amazon.

To quote the book summary: “Constance didn’t plan on being an angel. She certainly didn’t plan on starting the apocalypse. Yet now she’s done both, and she’s trying to fix her mistakes and earn her wings at the same time. She also has to fight off her ex-boyfriend Ben, who’s joined the Other Side, and recover a treasure of Biblical proportions. Not to mention, she has a problem with a kaiju. It’s a lot to deal with for Heaven’s newest angel.”

Enjoy!

Catrina vs. Susan, Again

Last time, in the Catrina Chronicles, our heroine had just defeated the Loch Ness Monster and an assortment of government people who were trying to cover up her heroic adventure. Now, accompanied by Merlin, she races back to the Lady of the Lake’s aquarium to retrieve Excalibur and save Britain. Little does she know…

“Oh dear,” said Catrina. “She’s not supposed to be missing her head, is she?”

“No,” Merlin said grimly, “She is not.”

The two stood in the empty office, looking down at the body of the Lady of the Lake. “I don’t suppose you can resurrect her?” Catrina said hopefully. “Resurrections can happen a lot. I’ve done it myself.”

“No,” Merlin said again. “Not this time. For one thing, I’d need her head, and I don’t see it anywhere.”

“Ah,” Catrina said, wincing. She brushed her dark hair off her shoulders and hefted Mlrning (the Shovel of Thor!). “Right, can we at least find out who did it? I bet I can guess who, though.”

Merlin made a few passes over the body with his wand. A shadowy figure materialized in the air; a woman with brown hair, wearing black denim. “I knew it,” Catrina said. “Susan. Always Susan. My nemesis.” She looked closer, and then she had no need to, for an object had just come visible in Susan’s left hand. “Oh, look, she’s got the sword.

“Then we’ve failed,” Merlin said. “It was my fault. This was not the year in which to attempt a great quest.”

Catrina blinked. “What, is this a bad time?”

“You have no idea,” Merlin said. “Well, Britain’s done for then. You might as well go back to the 12th century.”

“Now, hang on there!” Catrina protested. “I’ve been in worse spots than this! I was turned into a zombie penguin once! We can get the sword back. All we have to do is set a trap.”

“And how do we do that?”

Catrina smiled slowly. “What good’s a sword if you don’t use it?”

Susan was bored. She had been about to storm London and, with the power of Excalibur, lay claim to the throne of Great Britain, but first she decided that she wanted a snack. The problem was that she couldn’t seem to find any place open. Unlike Merlin, who could see into realms of space and time, Susan’s knowledge was rather more limited. She had no idea about pandemics or lockdowns or even basic mask protocol. So there she was, strolling down the sidewalk, carrying the sword Excalibur, when finally she observed a line of people gathered before a shop selling muffins.

Susan ran for them, drawing the sword. It flashed like lightning in her hand as she descended upon the queue. “Stand aside, losers!” she yelled. Or rather, she started to, because suddenly the people and the muffin shop had vanished in a magical puff of smoke. In its wake stood the familiar outline of a dark-haired girl with a shovel, and a birthmark on the back of her neck the exact shape of Newfoundland.

Slowly Catrina turned ’round, Mlrning held casually in her hand. “Susan,” she said.

“Catrina,” Susan snarled, raising Excalibur.

“Shall we?” Catrina said.

“Let’s.”

The fight began, shovel against sword, in a crash of lightning and ice. Catrina and Susan were both hurled backwards at first, but they quickly bounded up and started in again; this wasn’t their first rodeo. Merlin conjured up some popcorn and, realizing that they probably had some history here and this was something they should work out for themselves, decided to wait before intervening and watch the battle unfold. Besides, he’d already seen ahead through time to the next season of the British Baking Show, so he knew who won there anyway. At the moment, this had his full attention.

This has been another exciting episode of the Catrina Chronicles. Will Catrina and Mlrning emerge victorious against Susan and Excalibur? Tune in next week to find out!

The Last Bop

Their hold on me had long since loosened.

They’d been getting their cut, once a month, no more, like the plan said.

Then the pandemic came, and, well, you know.

So I stopped sending the checks to Igor U. altogether.

I used the money for myself, and the work.

Got the doc a nice new lightning machine. What’s the harm, right?

I am an Igor, and this is my job.

I thought the feds had put all student loans on hold.

Turns out universities for mad scientist assistants don’t play by fed rules.

So they came after me. First letters on parchment. I ignored.

Then more letters, less polite. I gave ’em to our monster.

Parchment letters are super tasty, apparently.

Then nothing for a while. I figured I was fine.

Even the doc thought so.

Actually let me have a turn on the lightning machine.

I am an Igor, and this is my job.

Turns out you shouldn’t ignore Igor U’s letters.

They’ve got bigger monsters.

They break lightning machines like twigs.

They broke the doc too.

I’m totally fired now.

And the monsters think I’m tasty.

I am an Igor, and this is my job.

In which I write a farewell post for the Yeah Write grids as they are closing, a bop which is also callback to Missing. I wouldn’t have known what a bop poem was without Yeah Write. Good times.

Lights in the Dark

One flashlight flash meant danger, two flashes meant it was safe; but she saw three flashes that night from beyond the bog. “Three flashes?” Amelia said in exasperation. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Azalea said. She was the cooler of the sisters, almost to a fault, and besides, it wasn’t her affair. “I wasn’t in charge of the signals.”

“Maybe his flashlight’s gone wrong?” Beth piped in. Beth was the youngest, and found the whole thing very exciting. “He could’ve meant to signal two and sent three by mistake!”

“I thought you said it was a brand new flashlight,” Azalea pointed out. “You bought it yourself, didn’t you? That was part of the plan. Of course I thought it was ill-mannered to make you buy the flashlight yourself in the first place, but-“

“He didn’t make me,” Amelia said miserably,” “I did it myself. Thought it was more romantic that way. And it was new. Well, what do I do now?”

She considered sneaking out to meet him as they had planned. It could just work. Her father was in his study, reading as usual. Mother was in the kitchens arguing with the cook about the next day’s dinner. It was supposed to be a big to-do, not that Amelia planned to be around for it. In between the kitchens and the study, the main hall leading to the front door was dark and quiet. If she could get down the stairs and to the hall, she’d be home free.

“You should go!” Beth urged.

“I wouldn’t,” Azalea said.

“Wait!” Amelia exclaimed. Outside the window, in the distance, a light flashed. Everyone froze in breathless anticipation, even Azalea. Then a second flash. A long pause followed. No further flashes came.

“So is that five flashes or…” Azalea said.

“That’s two,” Amelia said decidedly. “Beth was right, the first time was a mistake. I’m going.” She swept up her traveling cloak and bag and started for the door.

“Oh, best of luck!” Beth said, intercepting her and giving her a sisterly hug. “Happy eloping!”

“I’ll try to calm Father for you,” Azalea said. “Shouldn’t be too bad. He’ll get over it.”

With that, Amelia was away. She went cautiously at first, down the steps and through the dark hall. Mother’s voice rose on her right; she was going on about a trifle or some such thing that she particularly wanted for tomorrow. On her left, light spilled out under the study door.

Amelia tugged the front door open and slipped outside. She elected not to close it entirely behind her, lest it bang and alert everyone to her escape. She gently pulled it to, as much as she dared, and then, catching up her things, she sprinted away from the house, towards the distant light.

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Photo by Ján Jakub Naništa on Unsplash

Waiting

She knew he was terrified of small spaces. She knew that. Colonel Woofles had made it plain to her as best he knew how, through plaintive whimpers, soulful gazes, and frequent tail droops. He had even, on a few rare occasions, despite all protocol, growled. It wasn’t his fault the witch couldn’t speak Dog.

And yet, here the Colonel was, tucked away in a pocket dimension, with only a few mournful trees surrounded by endless dark, waiting for her to return. And why? Because she had to go and see some mystical power or other so she could ascend to new heights of evil. How this was to happen he wasn’t quite sure. In her defense, she had offered him a biscuit midway through her monologue which was much more interesting, in his considered opinion, than the monologue was.

But she hadn’t returned, and Colonel Woofles’ stomach was beginning to growl. It was difficult to be sure in the pocket dimension, but some innate sense told him that it was close upon dinner time. The Colonel waited until he could wait no more. Then, at last, he took a breath, puffed out his chest, and let out a tentative bark.

The sound echoed amidst the trees around him and died away. Then, in the darkness, something barked back.

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Photo by Přemysl Čech on Unsplash

The Lost Package

Clyde was just walking home when he heard the crunch of boots behind him. “You there,” a voice boomed heroically. “Where’s the cake?”

Clyde whirled. He couldn’t believe it. There, cape swirling in the light of the streetlamp, was the Red Brick. He followed the man’s escapades every night on the radio as he finished up his shift. Just the other day the man had lifted an entire school bus out of the way of an avalanche and flown it for two miles without breaking a sweat. “You… you’re…”

“The Red Brick, yes, I know,” the man said. “And you’re Clyde Barnes. I had my associate Networker track you. Now we’ve made introductions, where’s the cake?”

“Erm,” Clyde said. “Well. About that…. look, the package was damaged, and according to the postal rules I had to inspect it to make sure the contents were okay, right? Anyone would’ve done the same.”

“Okay….” the Red Brick said suspiciously.

“And there it was inside, a nice bundt cake, just like my sister Freda used to make, bless her, and I hadn’t had lunch yet, so I thought I’d just have a little bit to take the edge off, you know, and then, well….”

“Let me guess,” the Red Brick sighed. “You ate the whole thing.”

“I did that,” Clyde said, scuffling his shoes. “But if you’re wondering about what was in the middle, I saved it just in time. Almost thought it was an almond. Here you go.” He fished in his pocket and tossed a glinting object towards the Red Brick.

“No!” the Red Brick gasped, making a drive and catching it just in time. “That mustn’t be lost!”

Now it was Clyde’s turn to gasp. “Don’t tell me it’s a legendary gem of power or something that could destroy the cosmos if it falls into the wrong hands?”

“Ah, no,” the Red Brick said. “It’s quite ordinary, actually. I bought it from a company that’s in the same building you ship packages in. See, I have a date tonight. With the Flying Cricket. I’m hoping she’ll say yes.”

“Oh,” said Clyde. “Well, good luck then. ”

“Thanks,” said the Red Brick. Then, with a swirl of his cape, he blasted off into the night sky.

Lesser Incarnations: 100 Words

She slammed down in the chair across him. “You filed a complaint against me. Why?”

“You went on vacation. Your deputy had the duty.”

She shrugged. “Revolution’s great. What’s the problem?”

“Called in sick. Someone else filled in.”

“Who?”

“Monday.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“It was. How many people usually die during Monday morning conference calls?”

War arched an eyebrow. “You’re upset because you had nothing to do?”

“I found something,” Death growled. “One person missed his alarm and in his hurry got hit by a bus.”

War giggled. “Fine. I won’t go on vacation again. Deal?”

“Deal.”

This was February‘s assignment for Yeah Write’s 20/20 Hindsight project, which was to take one’s January story and rewrite it in 100 words. Hoo boy.

Our Souls, Our Selves

“Right, all of you, listen up!” Tasha said, primly tapping her clipboard. “Okay, here’s how it’s going to work. You’ll all be sorted into the Pearly Gates in just a moment. First, though, some of you are going to be detained just a bit, only an eon or two, yes, Purgatory’s real, sorry about that. Right, I need the following people to step over here, please!” She glanced down at the clipboard, squinting in the light of her halo. “Payson? Payson Smith?”

One of the souls stepped forward. Tasha almost dropped the clipboard in astonishment. It was her own self. It looked exactly like her, except without the halo and a little more tired around the ghostly eyes, but nonetheless, it was her. Tasha glanced back towards the Pearly Gates and wondered if she should call in Peter for this. “No,” she said firmly to herself. “I am an angel. There must be an explanation.”

She took firm hold of the clipboard. “Right,” she said. “Who are you?”

“Payson,” the soul said dully. “So, I’m up for Purgatory? Why?”

“Erm.” Tasha said, checking her papers. “Well… you did kinda slack off on a lot of things… and there was that guy, the one on the bike…”

“If you were me, you’d know,” Payson said. “I had a rough life, you know?”

Tasha looked at the worn out soul. “You aren’t a clone or anything, are you?”

“A what?”

“Never mind,” Tasha sighed. “I suppose I’ll never know. Okay. We’ll let it slide, this once. I won’t tell Peter if you won’t.”

Payson flashed her a grateful smile, and started towards the Pearly Gates. Tasha smiled back as Payson moved past her. She felt nice, having helped a fellow soul escape the troubles of Purgatory, even if it wasn’t as bad as the other place- then, she sniffed. Tasha had just caught a distinct hint of sulfur.

Instinctively, she grabbed her halo and threw it. It hit Payson with a bang and a flash of golden light. Payson’s appearance changed into something distinctively worm-shaped. “Ow!” she hissed, her voice less Tasha-sounding and much more irritated than before. “That wasn’t fair!”

“Well, neither was trying to sneak in!” Tasha said in high outrage. “Begone, foul menace!”

“Look, have a heart,” the creature whined. “I really did have a bad day. I put in for a transfer from Circle Ten. It’s a frozen lake of ice. You know how much it sucks guarding ice for all eternity? But the boss says no. Says every circle’s full. Then he jabs me in the spleen with a pitchfork!”

“Didn’t know you guys had spleens,” Tasha said.

“Well we do, and it hurts,” the creature sulked. “So I figured I’m good at disguise, yeah? Thought I’d disguise myself, sneak in here, rest a bit. ‘Least it’s not ice.”

This time Tasha wasn’t tempted at all. “Well,” she said briskly, “You can’t. Not falling for that one again. Bye!” The clouds parted, and the creature disappeared, giving a last frantic scream before it fell.

“Okay,” she said , turning back to the waiting line, its members looking distinctly more nervous now. “Next?”

Saving the World

“You know, those guys, they’re messed up,” Tabitha said, scowling. “They’re just…messed up!”

“Yeah, I know,” Constance said. “Tell me about it. I was over in Uruk the other day. Those temples they’ve got, you do not want to know what goes on in there. Trust me, you don’t, Tabs. You really don’t.”

Tabitha shuddered. “I don’t get why the big guy doesn’t just smite them. Or maybe let us do it. It’d be easy. Like that!” She snapped her fingers.

“Not that easy,” Constance said. “There’s the animals.”

“Look, I know a guy,” Tabitha said. “Good with animals. Not so bad himself. Got some kids. He can handle things. We take care of him, he gets the animals, we zap everything else.” Her eyes lit up,. “Or, you know what, we flood ‘em!”

“Flood,” Constance said flatly. “Like with water.”

“Yeah!” Tabitha said. “Big ker-sploosh, all that water, everything’s clean! Bam!”

Constance shrugged. “I can talk to Angelic Command if you want. Make some inquiries.”

Tabitha nodded, a little nervous now. “Yeah. Why not?”

A few days passed. Then Tabitha’s halo chimed. “Hey, Tabs. It’s me. You’re a go.”

A week later, Constance missed Tabitha at the morning roll call. She went in search of the angel, and found her staring down through the clouds at the pouring rain. “I … really didn’t think it would be that bad,” Tabitha said. “Not like that.”

“Yeah, but you can start again now,” Constance said. “Make ’em better. Trust me.”

“You sure? And the Big Guy, he’s sure? He did give me the go, right?”

Constance looked down at the rain. “Sure. Yeah. He did.”

Tabitha smiled. “Thanks, Con.” She straightened her wings and flew off.

Constance sighed. Her halo chimed insistently. That would be Angelic Command, screaming to know what had happened, and how the whole planet had gone and gotten itself wrecked. “They’ll be better,” Constance insisted to herself. “They’d better be. ”

Battle of the Crosswalk

It was dark in Edison City. It usually is, at three in the morning. One lone traffic light bravely glowed above the one-way straight, doing its best to maintain a small sense of order in the dark. The traffic light clicked methodically through its eternal sequence of green, yellow, red, then green, yellow, red. No one noticed, not that the traffic light cared. Order was preserved.

Then, someone came strolling up to the corner. They paused. The traffic light had, just at that moment, clicked over to green. Accordingly, the person on the corner should, by all the laws of the road, wait until the light clicked back to red before crossing. The night was silent. The dark figure looked left and right. Not a car was in sight, not even another human being. The man smirked, and started across.

He kept to the crosswalk, at first. Then, as if to compound his actions, he strode away from the pale white lines right into the center of the road. Still no car came. All was silent. He smirked again. There wasn’t even so much as the snap of an automatic traffic camera, just the disappointed green glow of the traffic light.

Then, a swoosh of cape. A black Starfleet-style boot slammed to the ground. A blast of flame scored the night air. Before the man could do anything, the new arrival had slammed him up against the traffic pole. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” an intense voice said.

“Who the-“

“I’ll ask the questions. Who’re you?”

“I’m… I’m Phil.”

“Never heard of you. You’re not my usual. Crudmuffin I know. Behemoth Bob, Hiccup Holly, the Malevolent Med-Student, they’re all big leagues. But you’re new.”

“Maybe,” said Phil. “You know me by my big city name. Back home they called me… the Rogue Jaywalker.”

There was an audible snort. “You’re kidding.”

“It’s what I do,” Phil said defensively. “I’ve got no superpowers, I’m not a billionaire, I’m not a mad scientist, so…”

“Whatever. This is stupid. Just head on home, will you? And mind the signal.”

Phil was shoved away, in obvious dismissal. He turned back, one question still on his mind. “Hey, who the hell are you?”

” Me?” she said. “I’m Gaseous Girl.”

She took off in a blast of flame. Phil stared. The traffic light quickly clicked over to red.